


Motivation

by tabarouette (lamardeuse)



Category: Stargate Atlantis RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-05
Updated: 2010-02-05
Packaged: 2017-10-07 01:14:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/59777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lamardeuse/pseuds/tabarouette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>High school AU. Joe finds his passion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Motivation

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not actually know what Joe Flanigan's middle name is.

It's a thousand degrees on the first fairway and it's only ten a.m. Joe is schlepping a full bag today, because the yabos who are playing this round are too cheap to rent a cart. He's silently cursing himself for agreeing to swap days with Mike when the kid shows up.

Well, to be honest he's probably about the same age as Joe, but he's got this sullen, rebellious look on his face that makes him seem about fifteen. His cheeks are pink from the heat, he has a wide mouth and a blond prep-school haircut, and he's lean in a not-quite-skinny kind of way. He ambles over to Joe and Rusty and the two older guys, one of whom is clearly his father, because he's got a matching scowl.

"Where's your caddy?" the father asks, his words carrying the mid-Atlantic accent of a Brit who's been among the colonists for a while.

The kid flicks a glance at Rusty and Joe; his gaze lingers for an extra half-second on Joe, or maybe that's just Joe's imagination. "I told you, I'm not playing." No accent that Joe can decipher; he'll have to hear more.

Joe can practically see the steam coming out of the father's ears. "You can use my clubs," he says, and this time the kid looks at Joe full on, eyes sliding down to his toes and all the way back up again. For the first time in years, Joe feels the Nevada heat rise to his face.

"Yeah, okay," the kid says. "Maybe there's something to this game after all."

    
    
    
    
 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

    
    
    
    
 

The one interesting thing about this job is that people treat caddies as though they're invisible. Joe isn't used to feeling that way; it should annoy him, but he's surprised to find it strangely liberating. Over the past couple of months, the conversations he's overheard have provided him with fodder for ten novels, if he can ever focus on his writing long enough to actually write them.

The kid – his name is David – is definitely main character material; by the time they're through the course Joe has learned that he's seventeen and about a hairsbreadth from dropping out of high school to pursue a career in acting. His dad, who is a Canadian doctor here in Reno at a medical conference, is understandably not pleased by this, and spends eighteen holes telling him so. David is fairly reticent, so Joe doesn't glean anything about his motivation, although his piercing blue eyes are a wellspring of an almost unholy energy that Joe yearns to translate to one of the blank pages lying scattered around his room at the ranch.

"One more year," David's father is saying on the eighteenth green. "I don't see how that can be too much to ask."

"No," David answers softly, "I know you don't," and the weary conviction in his voice makes Joe stare at him, or rather at the back of his head. After a couple of seconds, David turns and stares back, and Joe's gaze shies away in a deference he's not used to bestowing on others.

Or maybe it's fear. He's not used to that, either.

    
    
    
    
 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

    
    
    
    
 

"So, when do you get off?"

As pickup lines go, it's not even close to the most original he's ever heard, but the casual way that David leans against the doorframe of the caddies' locker room is. In spite of the slouch he's far from relaxed; in fact, he's so keyed up that he's shedding tension like a hunk of plutonium sheds dangerous radiation.

Joe straightens from tying his sneakers. The guy may be pretty, but he's got a whole year at CU under his belt and he's not into kids any more, sullen or otherwise. "Why do you want to know?"

One corner of David's wide mouth twitches, and suddenly he looks a whole hell of a lot older than his seventeen years. "Because I don't think you've seen me at my best, and I'd like a chance to amend your first impression," he says, and Joe thinks, Jesus, this is a high school dropout?

"I'm just the caddy," Joe says, shrugging. "What do you care what I think?"

David takes a step forward. "You're not just a caddy," he says with an unexpected ferocity, and Joe's mouth goes dry.

"Three hours," he croaks, and David treats him to a grin that lights his astonishing eyes with something that might be called innocent pleasure. Joe feels the world tilting on its axis but he can't be bothered to care; tumbling off the edge of the planet is a small price to pay for that smile.

    
    
    
    
 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

    
    
    
    
 

He picks David up at his hotel around six and they go to an early supper at this place Joe's heard about from his father's friends. It turns out – not surprisingly – to be as stuffy and padded as his father's friends, but at least the steak is second to none. David orders his blue, and Joe watches in semi-faked horror as he chows down on the slab of nearly raw meat.

"Christ, that's inhumane," Joe mutters, shaking his head. "The thing is still mooing."

"This is the only way to eat _filet mignon_," David sniffs, and the way he slips effortlessly into French kind of turns Joe on a little. He's thinking about going to France for his senior year just so that he can study the language and sit around in cafés listening to people speak it all day.

"What?" David asks after a moment, and Joe blinks, realizing he's been staring at him like a tool.

"Nothing," Joe says, turning his attention to his own steak.

"So," David says after a minute or two, "where are we going after this?"

Joe pauses, mind whirling. He considers three or four different places and discards them all. Reno, to be honest, is permanently stuck in middle age; he wishes they were in LA so that he could really impress the hell out of the guy. "Well, that depends on what you're looking for," he says, smiling, buying himself some more time.

David shakes his head slowly. "I stopped looking this morning around ten," he says quietly, and it's a corny line but David delivers it with such sincerity that Joe sucks in a soft, startled breath.

When silence reigns because Joe can't think of a single damned thing to say, David clears his throat awkwardly and says, "Sorry. I didn't mean to - " he waves a hand.

"No, that's okay," Joe says hastily. "I just – I'm not used to - "

"Precocious tykes?" David supplies helpfully, a glint of mischief in his eye.

Joe smiles. "That, too."

"Okay," David murmurs. He leans back against the leather bench and watches Joe, gaze screened by long, thick lashes. "So you're studying European history," he says. "Why?"

Joe takes a sip of his wine; the question isn't belligerent in tone but he still feels the need to defend himself. "No particular reason. Just wanted to learn more about it."

David smiles. "That's reason enough. But what's your passion?"

Joe frowns. What a bizarre question. "My passion?"

"Yes, your passion. What are you passionate about?"

Joe opens his mouth to say _skateboarding_ and _skiing_, but he realizes that would make him sound like a shallow, pretentious dick. The problem is, _investment banking_ doesn't sound any better, but that's probably where he's heading if he can't run across a way to earn money at writing. And he can't say _writing_ because it's both too close to the truth and too far from it, and suddenly he's afraid to let David have that kind of power over him. "I haven't figured that out yet," he says, as if he's thought long and hard about this very subject. "I imagine that's what college is for."

David nods and takes a sip of his own drink. "Hm," he says.

"Hm?" Joe parrots. "What does 'hm' mean?"

"Oh, nothing," David answers, sawing into his steak again and popping another piece into his mouth. Joe watches him chew, then turns his attention to his own food.

"You didn't tell me where we're going," David says a few minutes later. Joe looks up at him, sees the hint of amusement in his eyes. Christ, this – this teenaged _wannabe actor_ – is laughing at him, and that shouldn't piss him off as much as it does, but suddenly he feels the need to wipe that confident smirk off this kid's face. He doesn't have anything to prove to this guy, to anyone. He's Joseph Andrew Flanigan, and that's all he needs to be.

"Your hotel room," Joe growls, and sure enough, David's smug look disappears, but it's replaced by a raw tidal wave of sheer hunger that makes Joe's dick twitch in his pants, and God, God, what has he gotten himself into?

    
    
    
    
 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

    
    
    
    
 

"What are you – oh, just, just, hold on a second - "

"Can't wait," David says, nibbling at the collarbone he's exposed while his fingers continue to work their way down Joe's Oxford shirt. "'M only seventeen, remember?"

"Okay, fine, just let me - " Joe tries to sit up, but David's too fast for him; before Joe can react he's got one leg over Joe's legs, straddling him.

"Ooh, who would've known you're a top?" Joe asks, but he's trembling at the sight of David wild-eyed and triumphant above him, and David has to feel it against his inner thighs. He places his hands on David's hips, ostensibly to steady him, but he's not fooling either of them. David grins down at him, but it's another one of those uncomplicated grins, and suddenly Joe feels marginally less terrified.

David leans down to kiss him, and Joe, who was sure he didn't do that with guys, returns it eagerly. "I'll be whatever you want me to be," David husks, and Joe's fingers dig convulsively into David's hips at that.

David shoves himself off and away so that he can start shucking his clothes, and after a stunned second Joe follows suit, peeling off his shirt and unbuckling his belt. David strips unselfconsciously, while Joe finds himself spending an inordinate amount of time over his socks. Everything he's ever done with other guys (and there hasn't been a lot of 'everything') has transpired in the darkness behind the gym late at night, in the shadowed corners of an all-boys' dorm. He's not used to the warm glow of the bedside lamps in a Sheraton hotel suite.

David bends down to remove his underwear, and Joe gets a look at the pale curve of his ass, which is – wow, really well-formed, not quite as skinny as the rest of him. He turns back around and looks at Joe, and Joe's gaze is now glued to his dick, which is about as unclassy a move as you can get.

"You're overdressed," David says, nodding toward Joe's boxers, the fabric of which is somewhat distended.

"Yeah, uh, right," Joe says lamely, and how did he get assigned the fumbling teenager role in this scenario?

David flaps a hand, and Joe can't help but notice that his dick bobs a little as he does so. "Look, if you don't want to do this..."

And oddly enough it doesn't sound like a dare; David's not putting any pressure on him, but nevertheless it gives him that extra shove he needs to get him out of this weird funk. With a shake of his head, he shoves his boxers down and off, then lies back on the bed with one knee raised. "C'mere," he says, and David's uncertain look fades, to be replaced by that now-familiar fire. Joe wants to borrow some of that fire, to use it to warm his own tepid determination.

David is everywhere, his broad hands strong and sure against Joe's skin, and Joe finds himself following the younger boy's lead for the first few minutes because there's nothing else to do. David obviously has an oral fixation, because he sucks, licks or kisses every erogenous zone Joe has, along with a few he doesn't know he had, and Joe floats on a cloud of sensation and reaction and soft moans and gasps. When David's wide mouth closes around his cock, it only takes one strong suck to send him plummeting to earth, shouting the whole way.

His shouts stop abruptly when David clamps a hand over his mouth. "Jesus, Joe," he breathes, "this is a five-star hotel, but the walls aren't soundproof, you know?"

"Srrry," Joe manages, and David grins and takes his hand away. "I, uh, I didn't mean to do that."

David kisses him again, slow and nasty, and Joe can taste himself in David's mouth. "Don't apologize. I liked making you lose your grip on reality."

It's an odd way to put it, but Joe isn't going to quibble about the wording, because that's exactly what just happened. He rolls David over gently, then proceeds to return a little of that attention. He doesn't think he can match David's intensity, but David seems to appreciate his ministrations, because he tells him: "Oh, God, that's good, yeah, just like that" and "Harder, yes, oh, you can, oh, that's it, that's it - " until Joe wants to whack him upside the head to shut him up. On the other hand, the combination of David's breathy encouragement and the feel of David's sinfully smooth skin under his hands and mouth is enough to make him hard again, and pretty soon he's grinding his dick against David's thigh like a horny poodle.

And somewhere along the way Joe's lost control of the situation again because he's got one finger circling David's opening like he's asking a question, and David looks up at him and breathes, "Yes," and Joe slides just the tip of his finger inside and David groans and grabs at his own dick to stop himself from coming and Jesus, he's really - he wants -

"Hang on a second," David pants, and then he's fumbling in the drawer and handing Joe a tube of something and dropping a foil packet on the bed, and, wow, holy _fuck_.

"You want me to - "

"Yeah," David manages, blue eyes huge in his face, "if you want to. I mean, you don't - "

Joe flicks open the cap with his thumb and squeezes a dollop of lube on his fingers, then murmurs, "Lift up," and David shuts his eyes and moans and obeys. Joe grabs a spare pillow and shoves it under David's hips – he saw that in the one gay porn movie he watched – and slides his slickened fingers into David's ass. He can't believe he's doing this, but at the same time he thinks he's starting to get what David means by passion, because right now he can't think of anything else that could be better than doing this.

David is tight, really tight, and Joe doesn't have anything to measure it against but it still scares him, because he doesn't want to hurt him. David rebels against his shallow, tentative thrusts soon enough, flexing his hips to get more of Joe inside, and then he cries out and convulses and Joe nearly has a heart attack. He withdraws his fingers swiftly, but David grabs at his wrist and rasps, "God, don't _stop_!"

"I was hurting you," Joe says, and David shakes his head and says, "no, you idiot, you almost made me come," and Joe gapes for a moment, stupidly. David growls and sits up and grabs for the condom packet, tears it and then he's rolling the condom over Joe's dick. Joe screws his eyes shut, because the sensation he can handle, but he can't handle the sight of David focusing that laser beam intensity on him like that.

He hears the _snick_ of the lube cap, and then the slide of David's hand, this time blunted just enough by the intervening latex. He opens his eyes again when he feels the mattress shift, then without looking at David's face, he spreads David's ass with his dry hand and pushes inside slowly, slowly.

"Look at me," David whispers, and Joe can't help but obey, and then he's trapped, held prisoner by the heat in David's eyes and the incredible pressure around his dick. He leans down as David leans up, and just as his hips bump David's ass their lips touch, tentatively, more of a caress than a kiss.

"Oh, God," David breathes, releasing a forced chuckle, "this hurts more than I thought it would."

Joe really does have a heart attack then. "Jesus, are you saying you never - " He starts to back out, but David's legs wrap around his hips, freezing him in place.

"Don't. It'll only hurt more. Just – give it a minute or two."

"Jesus, fuck," Joe murmurs, pressing his forehead to David's, angry at himself, at both of them. _He's only seventeen, you asshole_, he berates himself, _how many guys did you think he'd fucked?_ More than that, he's wondering why the hell David picked him, of all people; what were the signs that told him _now_ and _him_, how was he sure? He knows, though, that he'll never know the answer, because even if David could articulate it, Joe's never going to ask. Because David would tell him the truth, and he doesn't think he can handle that.

"Okay," David says after a while, "I think you can move now." Joe is forming an objection to this when he realizes that his hips are now working independently of his brain, and are gradually sliding his cock in and out of David's tight heat. He's about to reassert control when David emits a groan that's pure, unadulterated pleasure, and then there's nothing else to do but give in, say goodbye to reality, to control, to everything Joe's ever considered important, because nothing could be more important than making David produce that sound again and again. David shudders and gasps and clutches at his arms, helpless and gazing up into Joe's flushed face like it's the sun, and when Joe feels the first contractions of David's orgasm, he presses his hips hard against David's ass and lets David's passion tug his own over the edge.

    
    
    
    
 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

    
    
    
    
 

"So," David says, fingers stroking through Joe's hair, "do you think you'll ever find your passion?"

Joe gazes up at him, smiling in what he knows is a goofy fashion. "I don't know," he admits. "I'm probably going to end up in my dad's business."

"Which is?"

"Investment banking."

David screws up his face. "My condolences."

"Yeah." Joe wraps his arms around David and draws him down to lie against his chest, trying to hold on to this for a few minutes longer. "Who knows? Maybe I'll try acting."

David laughs softly. "You don't _try_ acting. You invite it in and it takes over your soul."

Joe smiles into David's hair. "I think I might be okay with that."


End file.
